


Blood and Bone

by chains_archivist



Series: Ronin by Aeshna [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Boys in Chains, Dismemberment, Drama, M/M, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence, general nastiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 07:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4254228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Aeshna</p><p>a Jedi shall not know anger, nor passion, nor hate...<br/>but sometimes serenity just isn't enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood and Bone

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dusk, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Boys in Chains](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Boys_in_Chains), which opened in 2000 as a multifandom archive for both fiction and art, but then sadly went offline in 2005. To bring the archive back, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2014. Open Doors [posted an announcement](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/1832) and e-mailed all creators about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please [contact the Open Doors committee](http://transformativeworks.org/contact/open%20doors).  
> \--
> 
> Title: "Blood and Bone"
> 
> Series: Ronin
> 
> Author: Aeshna (aeshna@...)
> 
> Website: http://www.ravenswing.com/aeshna/
> 
> Archive: Yes please! Whoever wants it; just let me know where it  
> ends up.
> 
> Pairing: Xanatos/OMC
> 
> Timeline: 20 years pre-TPM
> 
> Category: AR, action-adventure, drama, angst, non-con
> 
> Rating: NC-17 for violence
> 
> Warnings: violence, rape, dismemberment, general nastiness
> 
> Summary: a Jedi shall not know anger, nor passion, nor hate...  
> but sometimes serenity just isn't enough.
> 
> Disclaimer: not mine, alas, no matter *how* many toys I buy.  
> Everything here belongs to George.
> 
> Feedback: of any variety is very much appreciated, but not  
> essential -- I'll post anyway! I've suffered for my art, now it's  
> your turn....
> 
> Notes: so, as so often happens, we were in IRC one weekend and  
> conversation turned to the fact that, while gladiator-style fics  
> are popular in SW Prequel-fandom, none of us could remember one  
> that had Xanatos as the central character. It was felt that this  
> was something of an oversight and so I started trying to inflict a  
> plotbunny on Franzi... only to have the damn thing turn around and  
> bite me instead! So, here it is, in all its bloodstained glory.  
> Yes, sequels are planned....
> 
> Thanks to Franzi and Jedi Rita to looking this over for me, and to  
> Dee for her usual wondrous beta.
> 
> * * = italics

 

 

Gamorreans were big, but their savagery wasn't matched by their  
speed. Ducking a wildly swung blow, Xanatos rolled, easily  
avoiding the second boar's attack as he fetched up hard against  
the wall of the pit, the whoops and jeers of the watching crowd  
following him as he sprang to his feet and danced out of reach.  
His shoulder throbbed in dull protest at his manoeuvre, a reminder  
of injuries not yet healed, but the pain was ignored, pushed  
ruthlessly aside as an unnecessary distraction. Infirmity was  
*not* an option here. Side-stepping a charge, Xanatos snarled and  
aimed an ineffective kick at the tusked jaw, barely recovering in  
time to keep a thick-fingered hand from tangling in his long black  
hair.

There were three of them this time, each as naked and unarmed as  
Xanatos himself, the two boars and a lithe brown Human male with  
dark eyes who hung back more than he fought, letting his  
companions keep their prey moving, off-balance, as he watched for  
weakness. And *there* was the danger, Xanatos knew, the threat  
that most needed to be neutralised -- he could avoid the clumsy  
Gamorreans for hours, but exhaustion would make him vulnerable to  
a fresher, nimbler opponent. If he could only *get* to the  
bastard without getting pulped by one of the boars....

A rippling blue flash overhead, the electrified forceshield  
momentarily parting as something was thrown from the audience  
above. Xanatos darted for the heavy length of chain as it dropped  
into the pit, wishing once more for the long-departed touch of the  
Force. He *almost* reached the chain... and then it jerked away  
from his seeking fingers as one of the boars caught the last few  
links and lashed out sharply, clipping the scrambling young Human  
hard across the temple to the approving roar of the crowd.  
Xanatos staggered, fell, and then forced himself to movement,  
pushing away the pain and the ringing in his ears for later  
consideration. There was blood in his eyes, in his mouth, but  
weakness was death and he was *not* going to die in this place,  
not like this, not with the sound of frantic betting echoing  
overhead.

He wouldn't give them the pleasure.

The chain cracked against the scarred and stained plasteel of the  
fight pit's floor at his heels, and Xanatos hissed and twisted out  
of range, barely avoiding the other boar's lunge as injury slowed  
his reflexes. Scraping blood and hair from his eyes, he spared a  
glance upwards as another flash heralded a new gift, closely  
followed by a third as the audience began to adjust the odds for  
their amusement with random objects. The forceshield would  
destroy the circuitry of any blaster or stunstick thrown through,  
but there was much entertainment to be had from more *basic*  
tools. Something struck the floor at Xanatos' side and he  
snatched for it blindly, needing any advantage he could find, and  
felt a thrill of triumph as he found himself hefting a curved  
ceramic blade as long as his forearm. Lashing at his nearest  
opponent, Xanatos took a moment to check the Human's position,  
seeing the man stoop to lift a solid-looking metal bar and --

Fire erupted across his back, a stripe of sudden agony from  
shoulder to thigh as the chain slammed into pale, bare skin.  
Xanatos went down *hard*, silently cursing both himself and the  
Gamorrean as he rolled awkwardly aside, gasping for breath.  
Stupid, *stupid*, and he couldn't think straight, couldn't seem to  
do anything other than be a target. There was crimson on the  
chain as the boar pulled it back for the *coup de grace*, small  
eyes gleaming with triumph, and the station would have a new  
champion in moments if he didn't do something *fast*.

Gripping the blade firmly in his teeth, Xanatos rolled onto all  
fours and launched directly at the second boar. Movement was  
agony but reward was swift, the choking squeal following him as he  
threw himself over the thick-skinned shoulder, the chain almost  
clipping his ankle as it wrapped around the Gamorrean's throat.  
Spinning as he landed, he savagely thrust the blade into the  
choking boar's side, ripping it loose in the next instant and  
slashing upwards as the first boar tried to free his weapon from  
his dying partner's neck. Blood spurted and flowed and this time  
it wasn't his, wasn't red, and Xanatos gloried in the feel of it,  
hot and wet against his naked skin. Two down, one still standing,  
and he wasn't dead yet....

There was a flicker of movement at the edge of vision, blurred  
scarlet by the blood that still flowed from his scalp. Snarling,  
Xanatos lashed out again, knowing he was too slow even before  
something smashed into the chain mark that crossed his lower back,  
sending him to his knees. Gritting his teeth, he instinctively  
threw himself to the side, his battered skull protesting as he  
dodged the blow that would have shattered it. The crowd roared  
and more lethal gifts descended from on high, providing the  
surviving combatants with fresh options. Scrambling back towards  
the wall, Xanatos saw the other Human look away, clearly confident  
of his victory as he cast an eye across the new toys the audience  
had provided.

Fool.

Shifting his grip on the long, bloodstained blade, Xanatos sent it  
slicing towards his opponent. The man saw it at the last moment,  
his expression almost comically startled as he brought the metal  
bar up as if it were a shield... but it was too little, too late,  
the strike arcing wide as the knife found its mark and sliced into  
the vulnerable brown belly. Lips pulled back in a feral grin,  
Xanatos snatched up a smaller blade, then discarded it in favour  
of a broken bottle, glass shards gleaming wickedly in the  
artificial lights. Pushing himself slowly to his feet, his head  
pounding painfully with each movement, he staggered across to  
where the older man was writhing and trying to stuff his escaping  
guts back out of sight. Down and dying and....

Dropping to his knees, Xanatos grabbed the hilt of the bloodied  
knife, pulling it free of his opponent's open belly and flinging  
it aside. Hands shaking, he reached out to seize the man's face,  
ignoring the terrified eyes as he forced the bearded chin back to  
expose the corded throat. The pulse fluttered frantically beneath  
the brown skin as if trying to escape --

Fine. He could help with that.

The neck of the bottle was smooth in his sweat-slick hand as he  
drove it home, the polished surface belying the lethally sharp  
shards that sliced through skin and sinew, sending crimson  
fountains arcing through the air as arteries parted and Xanatos'  
last opponent died with a bloody gurgle. The watching crowd went  
wild, their cries a deafening background roar as the victor  
released the bottle and closed his eyes. Adrenaline faded with  
triumph, leaving him too aware of his wounds, of the scent of shit  
and blood and sweat, of the insanity of his position. He didn't  
want to be here, didn't want to do this, but the only other option  
was death and he wasn't ready for that, would *never* be ready for  
that....

Xanatos pushed himself back from the cooling corpse, too exhausted  
to feel anger. His head felt as though it were exploding, there  
was blood in his eyes, and he couldn't *quite* seem to make his  
legs do what he wanted them to --

The darkness rose up to swallow him and Xanatos surrendered  
willingly to its embrace.

***

*-- striplights and metal corridors, the sound of booted steps  
echoing hollowly off the walls. Crouching, waiting, aware of  
braid tickling against neck, of frightened slaves shivering  
behind, fear rolling off them, around them, their silence a  
fragile thing, ready to break, to crack, to shatter and bring hell  
down on them all --*

"...two days...conscious?..."

*-- white fire flashing through limbs, 'sabre dropping from  
nerveless fingers, screams and pain and a body that refuses to  
respond, needs to respond, lashing out with Force and where is he?  
Where IS he? Can't do this alone, can't fight them all, not alone  
\--*

"...bring back...useless bastard...worthless if he can't..."

*-- struggling, hissing, biting, kicking, fear and fury building,  
building, the crackle of Force responding at last... and then  
vanishing, utterly and completely as the dull silver snaps around  
the slender throat and everything turns to agonising monochromes  
and --*

The world came back in a rush, dreams and memories evaporating to  
be replaced by too-bright lights and the acrid scent of bacta and  
disinfectant. Hissing softly as a needle was pulled none too  
gently from a vein, Xanatos winced at the pain in his head, echoed  
dully across his back. He was lying on his stomach on a slab-like  
medical gurney, limbs tightly restrained against the metal rails  
to either side and couldn't quite recall how he had --

Oh yes.

Experience told him that the bout was done but the fight was not  
yet over.

"Awake, are you?" A hand locked in his hair, pulling his head  
back painfully to look up into the face he had hated for what  
seemed like forever. "Stupid little *fuck*. You nearly got  
yourself killed and where would *that* have left me? Losing the  
money would be bad enough, but losing face in front of Gher'salia?  
Unthinkable!" Orlam Merlis scowled at his most prized possession  
and tightened his grip. "Worthless piece of shit, I should have  
known you'd burn out eventually. I should retire you and have  
done with it, bring in fresh meat. After three years, you're  
damaged goods, undefeated or not."

Xanatos growled deep in his throat. Merlis snorted and backhanded  
him. "Snarl all you want, Jedi-boy. You're only alive because  
you're still useful. *Never* forget that." Releasing the black  
hair, the governor of Torlanis Station stepped back and cast an  
appraising eye over the slender, athletically muscled body bound  
to the bed, over the bruises and scars of varying age that  
patterned the pale skin. "Hmm, I think you might just need to be  
shown your place again, boy." He trailed a finger up the inside  
of one long leg, chuckling to himself as Xanatos jerked and  
struggled against the restraints. "Because you're *mine*, make no  
mistake about that, boy." He leaned in closer, wrapping one meaty  
hand around the back of the younger Human's skull. "I'm the one  
who owns you. I'm the one who fucks you. And when you've served  
your purpose... *I'm* the one who's going to snap that pretty  
little neck. No-one else. Just remember that."

Blue eyes narrowed to slits as the old fury coiled in Xanatos'  
gut, but his retort died unspoken as a blinding burst of agony  
scythed through his brain. He convulsed, shuddering against his  
bonds, not quite able to stop the soft keen than escaped him.  
"Something to say, boy?" Merlis smirked. "I didn't think so.  
I'll be back for you later."

Xanatos closed his eyes, trying to shut out his surroundings as  
his owner left the medical bay. He would give anything to be able  
to rip that evil smirk off Merlis' face, to tear the flabby body  
to bloodied shreds, but he knew it to be an impossible ambition.  
The electronic sliver that sat snug against his brainstem did more  
than merely block him from the Force; it sent electrical jolts  
directly into his pain centres each time he tried to speak... and  
whenever Merlis wished it. He had never worked out how the man  
controlled it, but the governor's fancies invariably involved his  
most fearsome fighter crawling and writhing at his feet. It was  
power-play, all of it, petty and wicked and pointless and --

And Xanatos wanted it *over*.

But not at the cost of his life.

***

The next time it was the sound of crying that woke him, a wordless  
wailing that seeped through his drug-addled dreams and set his  
nerves on edge. Opening his eyes with an effort, Xanatos found  
himself back in his narrow pen, lying where he had been dumped on  
the barely-padded pallet. The injuries inflicted in the last bout  
throbbed dully, a softly pounding background to the newer, sharper  
pains left by Merlis' evening amusements. Moving cautiously, he  
pushed himself to all fours in the half-light and tried to  
pinpoint the source of the sound.

The weeping was coming from the far end of the slave hold, where  
the larger sorting cells awaited new arrivals. Xanatos felt his  
lips pull back in a snarl, disgust twisting his thoughts as it  
always did when fresh blood arrived on Torlanis. Their presence  
meant there had been slavers through, no doubt while he had been  
unconscious, ruthless hunters selling their terrified victims to  
the likes of Merlis for the entertainment of his men. Sentient  
beings reduced to the level of animals, snatched and silenced and  
turned into *things*....

Things like *him*.

There was a sharp pain inside him as Xanatos stood and limped  
across the short length of his pen, a too-intimate reminder of  
ownership. Merlis had made *very* sure that his pet killer knew  
his place. Turning on his heel as he reached the forceshield that  
contained him in his bare cubicle, Xanatos looked back towards the  
pallet and let his gaze linger on the bloodstains that marked the  
rough coverings. Some were old, faded, but others were fresh,  
testimony to the scratches and bites that patterned already  
scarred skin, every blemish marking him as property, a beast to be  
used or sold or slaughtered at Merlis' whim.

And that thought made him *angry*, the emotion drawn from  
somewhere deep inside. Once, he might have released it into the  
Force, but the Force was denied to him now and so he *used* the  
fury instead, letting it warm him, letting it drive him, letting  
it give him a reason for living. The Jedi taught that the wilder  
emotions were dangerous, that passion of any sort was a path away  
from the light. The Jedi taught control, constraint, layered  
sleek veneers of serenity over everything that might allow them to  
*feel*, letting their philosophy smother the real world. The Jedi  
taught their children to keep reality at arm's length and never  
hinted at what it was to have to face it with no more senses than  
the species that spawned them.

Xanatos hissed. Serenity was well and good in the Temples and the  
towers, but in *this* reality, it would gain him nothing but a  
fast and brutal death. Passion was survival here, anger an  
inspiration. And as for vengeance.... He smiled crookedly. Oh,  
what *would* his Jedi teachers think if they could see the dreams  
of vengeance he held in his heart?

Probably that he deserved every minute of the fate their precious  
Force had dealt him.

A muffled growl from the next pen told of his neighbour's  
displeasure at the shrieking newcomers. Claws clicked against  
ferrocrete as the big Trandoshan paced, and Xanatos could picture  
the grey-scaled reptilian prowling on the other side of the opaque  
plasteel wall that separated them, hissing and snarling to  
herself. Merlis' second-ranked fighter and, as such, not one that  
Xanatos had to worry about, not like Jurekka's stable, housed in  
the next block over, or Bh'roos'yh's in the block beyond that.  
Each pen, each cell, held a chance of sudden death... but many had  
tried to take him and all had failed, though their efforts were  
indelibly branded across his skin. So many dead at his hands and  
each one -- with the exception of a few careless pit handlers -- a  
nameless captive like himself. Except that those other nameless  
captives did not have a lifetime of Jedi training behind them....

Had he crossed a line? And if so, when? He had been assigned to  
free slaves, not to murder them for the amusement of others. But  
survival was survival and if he wasn't the instrument of death  
then another would be. He didn't have the energy to waste on  
guilt. And it had been so very, very long since he had thought of  
himself as Jedi.

Xanatos wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes.  
Sometimes, it was all he could do to think of himself as *Human*.  
In this place, he wasn't a person, wasn't even a number; he was  
merely Merlis' champion, a predator to be treated with cautious  
respect for his speed and savagery... but for nothing more than  
that. An animal, not even granted a nickname that he had ever  
heard from Merlis and his keepers. And *that* was the thing that  
preyed on his mind the most, when he allowed himself to think of  
it at all -- the loss of his name, of any acknowledgement that he  
might once have *been* someone, anyone. There were times when he  
would give anything just to hear his name spoken, by himself or  
another, before he forgot the shape and the sound of it entirely.  
He had tried to scratch the word into the base of his pallet once  
but his nails would make no impression on the ferrocrete and he  
had been forced to abandon the attempt. In the rare moments when  
his anger ebbed, and he felt at his most vulnerable and alone, he  
would sometimes trace the letters across his palm, drawing comfort  
from the memory of individuality. It wasn't much, but it was all  
he had.

Favouring his chain-scored leg, Xanatos limped back to the pallet  
and carefully settled on the stained cover, listening to the  
wordless cries that echoed through the hold. As a padawan, he had  
tried to follow the guidance of his master, of his elders, even  
when it seemed to make little sense. But then a mission went  
horribly wrong and the slavers gained a new prize instead, one  
worth far more than the shrieking colonists he had been trying to  
rescue. He had never been one of the terrified horde, he had been  
singled out for special treatment from the start. Even without  
the Force, a Jedi was a sound investment as a fighter, worth a  
king's ransom even as a battered seventeen year old apprentice.

The bidding had been fierce. Xanatos recalled that he had failed  
to feel flattered by that fact, chipped and chained as he was.  
And he had honestly *believed* that the Jedi would come for him,  
that rescue was imminent, that his master would not abandon him.  
He had believed and he had waited... and he had finally been  
forced to concede that his faith was wasted effort, that his  
master had died in the attack. Nobody was coming for him. Nobody  
was even following the mission up, if the constant flow of new  
captives were an indicator. After a lifetime of service he had  
simply been abandoned to his fate. If he was to get out of this,  
he would have to do it alone.

Three years. Escape seemed unlikely, but where there was life,  
there was still hope....

Xanatos snarled at that thought and began to stretch methodically,  
letting the pain of his abused muscles bleed away some of the  
bitterness. He couldn't afford to stiffen up, not with the next  
bout just two days away. The other owners -- the officers and  
supervisors and de facto rulers of this edge-of-nowhere mining  
factory -- held their best back, he knew, watching him for  
weakness, for the best time to push their challenges. After the  
injuries of the last fight, there might well be such a test  
awaiting him. After all, one day a mistake would surely be made,  
a chance taken, and it would be *his* blood painting the victor's  
hands and lining their owner's pockets.

One day.

But not yet.

***

Fight days always followed the same routine. First, the constant  
dusk of the slave hold erupted into full illumination, drawing  
cries from each crippled voice as the light momentarily blinded  
eyes unused to the brightness. Then the pit handlers would arrive  
with their stunsticks and body armour to haul away those selected  
for the day's entertainment.

The newest recruits were always first, and Xanatos could hear the  
cacophony of their confusion as the handlers moved in. After a  
few days in the sorting cells, trapped together in the eternal  
half-light and the sweat-and-shit scent of the hold, those not  
already taken as whores were forced to slaughter one another in  
the evolutionary frenzy of the pit. It was brutal, but it served  
to select the strong... and to flush the civilisation from them.  
With no voice, no rights, and no hopes, it rarely took long to  
pare away the masks of society and reveal the animal within.

Pushing himself up from his pallet and testing each limb  
carefully, Xanatos refused to consider the state of his own  
sanity. He could feel the faint buzz of adrenaline building as he  
shook away sleep and arched his back, feeling the fresh scarring  
pull uncomfortably. Not quite as good as new, but not enough to  
really affect his range of movement. Merlis did, at least, keep  
his stable in fighting form, and even without direct access to the  
Force, Xanatos still healed faster than most. Stretching and  
flexing, he eased into the movements of a simple stationary kata,  
letting muscle-memory lead where the Force could not. He had not  
truly meditated since his capture, but there was still an odd  
comfort in letting his body retrace the old dances, building a  
familiar foundation to the quicksilver savagery that would  
inevitably follow. Xanatos was in no doubt that he would be  
chosen again -- it was the way of things with station champions.  
The money -- and the pride -- was too great for Merlis to resist.

Footsteps sounded outside his pen, the only warning before  
implant-inflicted pain left Xanatos convulsed and gasping on the  
floor. Hands grasped him roughly, binding his wrists tight behind  
him and hauling him from the enclosure with the cool length of a  
stunstick pressed tight against his throat, another at the small  
of his back. The desire to fight his captors warred with the need  
to be fit for whatever match had been arranged, but he clenched  
his teeth and let his handlers -- four just to escort him, he was  
flattered -- lead him cautiously from the hold and along the  
curving corridor to the holding pens.

He had made this walk so often that he dreamed about it -- grey,  
rust-touched walls lining the pathway into the unknown. In his  
dreams, it went on forever, endlessly curving ahead of him,  
inevitable and inescapable, but in reality it ended abruptly in a  
stained ferrocrete wall framing the curved black hatch of a  
transport shaft. The handlers stopped, their postures tense, and  
a third stunstick joined those already caressing their charge's  
skin, this one hooking under his lax genitals to rest coolly  
against his perineum.

Xanatos growled at the touch and at the soft whine of machinery  
that heralded the cage's arrival. The hatch slid aside to reveal  
the stinking chamber that transported slaves down to the holding  
pens, the floor wet beneath his bare feet as the handlers shoved  
him in and activated the field that stopped him from immediately  
bolting for freedom. The world turned pitch black as the door  
slid shut and the cage began its descent, a solitary void filled  
with the whisper of movement and the piss of the terrified.  
Xanatos always found the darkness oddly comforting in spite of the  
stench, the only true privacy he had known in years. For those  
few brief moments he was *alone*... and then the transport cage  
shuddered and the hatch hissed open to reveal the next stage in  
his journey.

Stepping out before the goad-fields could shock him into movement,  
Xanatos paused in the sonics chamber that encased the doorway,  
letting the whisper of frequency strip the stink from his skin as  
a second group of handlers moved in to collect him. Once again,  
the sensation of metal against flesh as he was marched to an empty  
holding pen and thrust inside, the bindings falling from his  
wrists as the forceshield sprang into place across the entrance.  
Xanatos snarled and shook his arms out, working feeling back into  
the muscles as he paced his scrap of territory and tried to  
identify his opponent for the day.

Animal cries echoed through the air, familiar and foreign at the  
same time. Xanatos ignored the sounds of defiance and despair,  
eyeing the other pens and their nameless occupants appraisingly.  
The scar-faced Chagrian was Jurekka's current champion, he knew,  
and a definite possibility for his next challenger, but there was  
a dark-furred Wookiee near the end of the corridor who looked  
unfamiliar and yet carried himself with the fierce grace of an  
experienced fighter. It was possible that one of the other  
stations in the system had sent an opponent for him -- the group  
set against him in the previous bout had been from Outside -- or  
that there had not only been fragile civilians in the last  
shipment of slaves. Shit, too many variables, too many  
possibilities....

He was going to have to wait to see what the day brought him.

A muffled roar told of a bout's end, the crowd marking some poor  
fool's death with bloodthirsty approval. Xanatos growled  
threateningly as the handlers approached his cell... and passed  
him by, to pull one of the mid-level fighters from the pen just  
beyond his immediate neighbour's. As the unfortunate Zabrak was  
herded towards the pit, the battered Iktotchi survivor of the  
previous bout was dragged past, bleeding from mouth and nose and  
missing several fingers. Xanatos could scent the blood, could  
almost taste it, could feel the promise of mayhem coiling in his  
gut and sharpening his senses. He let it build, let the presence  
of death bring him fully to life, let the *need* --

There was a flash of brilliant blue-white accompanied by the angry  
percussive buzz of a disrupted forceshield, and Xanatos spun  
around, dropping into an attack posture as he turned to face the  
danger. Merlis chuckled at the reaction, tapping his stunstick  
against his palm as the energy field crackled briefly before  
regaining its integrity. "Sloppy, boy. I hope you're going to be  
more awake in the pit today." Xanatos hissed, not relaxing his  
pose in the slightest as his owner inspected him possessively, a  
faint smile twisting the man's thin lips. "I'd hate for you to  
fuck it up now, not when I have *such* great things planned for  
you later." He caressed the stunstick lovingly, suggestively,  
then discharged it against the forceshield once more. Xanatos  
refused to flinch. "Yes, my boy -- today is going to be  
remembered as your finest hour. Don't let me down. There are  
going to be surprises all round...."

Xanatos watched, eyes slitted, as his owner turned away, wanting  
more than ever to just rend the evil bastard's flesh from his  
bones and feast on the remains. If Merlis' aim had been to goad  
his champion to greater fury, he had succeeded, and Xanatos let  
the fires feed, let them fill him, warm him, stoke his passions  
until the need for action was all consuming. The Force have mercy  
on *any* who crossed his path today. And what possible surprises  
could he face that had not been thrown into his path before? Let  
them bring on the Wookiee, the Chagrian, whoever they wanted -- he  
would tear them apart, as he had all comers before, imagining each  
of them to be Merlis.

When the pit handlers came for him, he was pacing again, blue eyes  
bright and *hungry*. He went with them quietly enough, not  
resisting, not fighting, almost placid... until he reached the  
shielded arch that formed the entrance to the pit itself. There  
was chanting beyond the shimmering field, the crowd demanding  
their champion, and Xanatos pulled his lips back in a feral grin  
as one of his guards let his attention wander momentarily away  
from him, distracted by a sound from the holding pens.

*Stupid*.

Xanatos twisted as the shield dropped, seizing the startled  
Malastarian's arm and hauling him into the great walled circle  
before the other handlers could bring their weapons to bear. One-  
on-one, the stunstick was a useless distraction, easily cast aside  
and forgotten as he pinned the panicked, braying guard with a knee  
between the man's shoulder blades, snapping spine and neck with a  
single bone-crunching wrench. Implants were never used to subdue  
fighters once in the pit -- any handlers caught on the wrong side  
of the forceshields were on their own. It was a rare treat to  
catch one out and the crowd howled approval as he sprang away from  
the corpse, watching for his actual opponent. His blood was  
singing now, senses focused, ready for whatever the station's  
Powers That Be chose to throw at him.

The door-shield flickered momentarily and disgorged a pair of  
humanoid figures... who promptly squealed and fled to the opposite  
side of the pit, clinging to one another as they tried to get as  
far from him as possible. Xanatos froze, confused, as the  
spectators laughed at the unlikely pair, throwing them weaponry  
from above. It had to be a trick, an act -- they wouldn't send in  
new arrivals, not to face him. But the pair, an ageing Human and  
a barely-grown Bothan, looked quite genuinely afraid, staring at  
him as though he were Death Incarnate.

Which, in this place, he was.

A step forward, then a second, watching for signs of strategy, for  
any indication that they were more than the terrified prisoners  
they appeared. The other two watched him, their gazes  
occasionally flickering towards the blades and other gifts that  
lay scattered before them although they made no move to actually  
claim the weaponry. Xanatos stooped, snatching up a short,  
double-edged dagger whose handle fit comfortably into his palm,  
and continued to stalk towards his prey. He could imagine his  
master's views on what he was about to do, but his death wouldn't  
save them and only one combatant was allowed to leave the pit  
alive. The fight would continue until only the victor remained  
and it would be a mercy to finish this quickly --

The Bothan boy suddenly released his hold on his Human companion  
and bolted back towards the other side of the arena. Xanatos was  
on him in a flash, snarling as he drove his blade into the tawny-  
furred throat and turning away from him before the body hit the  
ground. The Human had made the most of the distraction,  
scrambling to find his own weapons and coming up with a knife in  
each hand, one long and slender and wickedly pointed, the other  
broader and curved. Xanatos slowed his advance, wondering if this  
were the trap... but the man's hands were visibly shaking and his  
stance was wide open to attack. Launching himself forward,  
Xanatos easily avoided the desperate swipe aimed at him and  
grabbed the man's wrist, pivoting on his heel as he swung his  
opponent face-first into the wall of the pit. The crowd's roar  
drowned out the wet crunch of bone and the clatter of both blades  
striking the floor, but Xanatos ignored them, pushing his victim  
to his knees before slamming the man's head hard against the wall  
once more, feeling the skull splinter under the assault.

Releasing the corpse, Xanatos turned back towards the entry arch,  
unconsciously painting his thighs and belly with blood as he wiped  
his hands clean. What the fuck had *that* been about? There had  
to be more to this bout than frightened captives fresh from the  
auction. Merlis has promised surprises, but surely that couldn't  
be *it*....

It wasn't. As soon as the crowd had quieted, Jurekka's scarred  
Chagrian emerged, pacing carefully across the bloodstained  
plasteel as he eyed his bloodied opponent appraisingly. Xanatos  
returned the regard, sizing up one of the few fighters he has seen  
in the holding pens regularly over the past year. The Chagrian's  
pale blue skin displayed the marks of numerous bouts and one  
lethorn was twisted to the side, its keratinous spine missing but  
for a stump at the base. The skull horns were in perfect  
condition, however, gleaming wickedly in the overhead lights, and  
Xanatos knew that this would not be an easy match. He was going  
to have to seek every advantage he could find.

Bending carefully, Xanatos picked up the stiletto his last  
opponent had been using. The blade was splashed with red from the  
Human's demise, and it occurred to him that the Chagrian had  
probably not seen the fight, did not know that the blood was  
solely from the body cooling against the pit wall. Moving to lift  
a length of light chain, he affected the slightest of limps in his  
right leg -- nothing too obvious, nothing theatrical, just enough  
to suggest an injury being covered. His adversary was taller than  
he was, more solidly built, and those horns were a danger, but if  
he could lure him into an over-reach, into the slightest  
mistake....

They circled one another for long moments, watching for an  
opening. The Chagrian moved smoothly, confidently, the  
startlingly blue eyes giving nothing away as he slowly moved  
closer to Xanatos, easing in for the strike rather than charging  
his opponent down. A tactical fighter, then -- watching and  
waiting and *entirely* too dangerous.

Entirely too much like himself.

Xanatos considered making the first move, but that would expose  
his 'limp' and he wasn't yet ready to surrender that advantage.  
Instead he let his knee buckle slightly, the smallest of stumbles  
corrected almost instantly, but it was enough. The Chagrian  
sprang forward, moving faster than his size seemed to allow as  
powerful fingers reached for his bloodstained adversary. Xanatos  
hissed and let his leg twist again, rolling aside as he dropped  
and slashing at blue hide before skittering free. A bellow of  
rage and a splash of warmth, but no time to savour the strike as  
the Chagrian was after him in an instant, snatching a length of  
pipe from the air as it dropped and bringing it down with crushing  
force. Xanatos dodged, feeling the blow through palms and soles  
as it connected with the floor at his heels, lashing out with the  
chain but meeting only empty air.

Snarling, Xanatos pushed himself up and kept moving, still  
favouring his right leg as he started a retreat across the pit.  
The Chagrian refused to allow him the space, charging him and  
keeping him in motion, herding him as much as actually trying to  
strike. Xanatos allowed himself to be steered, deepening his limp  
and watching for a pattern in his opponent's attack. The crowd  
was roaring overhead, and if any were casting doubt on the  
authenticity of his wound, he couldn't make them out over the  
noise. He hoped the Chagrian couldn't either.

The pipe came down in a sweeping curve, the blow easily ducked...  
and then the Chagrian broke off the attack, instead turning and  
crouching and snatching and *throwing* all in one swift movement  
that Xanatos barely had time to respond to. There was a line of  
fire across his back as he desperately rolled under the strike,  
the blade scoring his skin instead of finding his heart, and he  
kept moving, ducking the second knife with no damage. He could  
feel the blood flowing down his spine, heated rivulets that  
mingled with sweat and left a spattered trail to mark his motion.  
Not a deep wound -- he could feel that much -- but a messy one and  
painful. Reaching the wall by the Bothan boy's body, Xanatos spun  
and swatted the third thrown blade from the air with a sharp flick  
of the chain, tuning out the crowd's approving roar at the move as  
he faced his opponent. The Chagrian paused, straightening as he  
met Xanatos' gaze, each assessing the other coolly. Each blooded  
by the other's hand and each fully intending, expecting to win.  
Whatever happened, the audience was going to enjoy this bout.

Xanatos felt a smile spreading slowly across his face as he began  
to stalk sideways, his mind racing, calculating and discarding  
moves, looking for openings, knowing the other man was doing the  
same. Watch and wait and need and *move* as the pipe flew at him,  
twisting aside again as his dodge nearly took him into the  
Chagrian's charge. Tucking and rolling and... Xanatos lashed out  
with the chain on instinct as powerful fingers closed on his  
ankle, jerking him upwards, towards the horns, and then releasing  
almost instantly as his opponent screamed in sudden pain. Darting  
free, he looked back to see his opponent clutching his face, blue  
hands slick with the blood that streamed from the ruined eye.  
Allowing himself a moment of relief, Xanatos snapped the chain out  
to rid it of its fleshy prize, then cautiously closed in for the  
kill.

The Chagrian was making soft huffing sounds of pain and fury,  
lowering his hands as he attempted to track his adversary with his  
remaining eye. Xanatos looked at the empty, oozing mess of the  
damaged socket and refused to allow himself complacency -- so long  
as his opponent was still breathing, he was still dangerous. But  
the Chagrian was also half-blind, and his depth perception had  
gone with the eye.... Moving forward, his assumed limp forgotten,  
Xanatos danced in and out of the other's field of vision,  
skipping back from occasional poorly judged swipes as he tested  
limits, sought the points of greatest weakness. If he waited long  
enough, blood loss might do most of his work for him, but the  
crowd were screaming for the kill and it was best to strike while  
pain was new and dulled the reflexes. Mercy was not an option.  
He couldn't remember a time when it had been.

Darting in fast, he dodged to the right, to his opponent's blind  
side, forcing the bigger man into an ungainly turn. Whipping the  
chain out hard and high, Xanatos wrapped it around a horn and  
*pulled*, throwing his weight into the move. Caught off-balance,  
the Chagrian bellowed and went down, clawing for his attacker with  
hands and feet, a final, desperate attempt to gain purchase, to  
seize, to rend, to *live*....

Xanatos avoided the flailing limbs with ease, slipping in to slide  
his knife across the back of a knee. His opponent thrashed,  
crippled and half-blind, and each *knew* it was over, with nothing  
left but the fatal blow. The crowd was baying, demanding, and the  
Chagrian barely resisted as Xanatos seized a horn and yanked his  
head back, burying the stiletto in the exposed blue throat. The  
powerful body quivered and jerked for a few moments, then stilled,  
and Xanatos slowly let his muscles relax, let his challenger's  
death grant him a little more life. A few more days, just a few  
more days, and maybe --

"Admire him while you can, ladies and gentlemen," a Corellian-  
accented voice boomed out over the pit's tannoy system and Xanatos  
froze, shock sending a fresh surge of adrenaline through his  
system. "Three years at Torlanis, two years as Station Champion,  
and retiring undefeated... if he can survive one final test.  
Governor Merlis has thrown out the challenge to our sister  
stations and...."

Closing his eyes, Xanatos tuned the voice out, not wanting to hear  
what it was saying about challenges and champions. *Retired*. So  
*that* was Merlis' promised surprise. He was being retired,  
withdrawn from the pit undefeated. Under other circumstances it  
might be a mercy, but Xanatos was under no illusions as to what  
'retired' meant. There would be no freedom, no relief, not here,  
not for him. No, 'retired' meant taken to Merlis' quarters once  
more, cowed and controlled by the cursed thing in his skull, only  
this time there would be no return to the pens. This time Merlis  
would take what he had paid good money for three years earlier.

*I'm the one who owns you. I'm the one who fucks you. And when  
you've served your purpose... *I'm* the one who's going to snap  
that pretty little neck. No-one else.*

Because what was the point of owning such a lethal toy if you  
didn't get the pleasure of breaking it yourself?

The voice overhead was speaking of the three other mining stations  
in the system, each with its own brutal version of this pit, its  
own captive champions, its own local pride. The voice within was  
telling Xanatos that if he truly wished to hurt Merlis, it would  
be easy to simply surrender his life to his final opponent, to  
offer his throat to claw or blade and let it *end*.... But his  
own pride would never allow it, the fierce core of *self* that  
needed to live, needed to *win*. To surrender would be to admit  
defeat. He might yet die, but he was determined to die fighting.

Whether the fight be against another station's champion or Merlis  
himself.

Taking a deep breath, Xanatos pushed himself to his feet, ignoring  
the pain of his lacerated back, ignoring the ragged pain within  
that was born of his frustration, his desperate need to survive.  
He wasn't *ready*! But then, he never had been. And he never  
would be.

Taking all of the twisting emotions within him and forging them to  
steely will, Xanatos looked towards the entry arch and waited for  
his final opponent.

It was not a huge surprise to see the dark-furred Wookiee launch  
himself into the pit, howling challenge even as the announcer  
related victories elsewhere. Some previous triumph had apparently  
brought the crowns of three stations to this one and his master.  
Only Torlanis remained, Torlanis with its apparently  
indestructible Jedi champion, a final scalp more valuable than any  
before, and not just because it would bring the system title with  
it.

Yes, today was indeed full of surprises.

Xanatos waited until the last moment before moving, slipping under  
the Wookiee's grasping claws and moving into open space.  
Something grazed his thigh as he moved, his adversary evidently  
faster than appearances suggested. Ignoring the minor wound,  
Xanatos spun around to see the Wookiee already after him once  
more, fresh and uninjured and determined to make the most of that  
advantage. Under most circumstances, Xanatos would find this  
encouraging, but here it had to be a tactic -- no run-and-rend  
specialist could or would have gotten this far. Ducking and  
rolling past the second attack, he felt the claws again, scoring  
his shoulder and *almost* dragging him back. Too close, too fast,  
no Wookiee should be able to --

Snatching up a long blade and pivoting to face his opponent,  
Xanatos was suddenly struck by the way the other was moving, fast  
and fluid and *entirely* too familiar. Staring into the dark,  
determined eyes, he tried to recall if they had met before... but  
the galaxy was wide and Coruscant not the only Jedi temple.  
Padawan, knight, or AgriCorps reject, the Wookiee was no one he  
knew, and for that Xanatos was thankful. After three years of  
slaughtering nameless strangers, he didn't want to know who this  
last opponent *was*....

The Wookiee was silent as he closed in once more, teeth bared and  
sharpened claws already reddened with blood. Xanatos hefted the  
blade, trying to place other weapons thrown into the pit without  
taking his eyes off his adversary. His pulse was pounding, a  
fierce drumbeat background to his racing thoughts -- he had faced  
dangerous challengers before, had been injured, had been close to  
death, but he had *never* faced another like himself in the pit.  
It was... exhilarating, terrifying, and what did he really have to  
lose? His life was forfeit anyway.

But his pride was not.

Snarling, Xanatos suddenly stopped his retreat, and charged the  
Wookiee, pulling back *just* beyond range of the claws, and then  
darting in as the swipe passed him, slashing with the blade. A  
bass roar of pain followed him and then there was a solid wall of  
fur too close, hot breath against his back, and it was all he  
could do to throw himself aside, rolling and *running* as more  
fresh blood blossomed from his hip. Too fast, *much* too fast,  
and he was tired, the edge of adrenaline blunted on the Chagrian's  
flesh, and he needed --

Another dodge, a stumble, and he fetched up hard against the body  
of the Malastarian handler who had provided his first kill of the  
bout. Pushing away from the body with more desperation than  
grace, Xanatos staggered again as his foot found something smooth  
and cylindrical, his sudden shift of balance pulling him away from  
the swipe that parted his hair and almost took his scalp. It took  
him a moment to realise what he had trodden on... and then he was  
snatching for it, his fingers finding purchase as curved claws bit  
into his leg and lifted him clear of the ground.

Xanatos screamed, pain and fury and the sheer need to *live*  
mingling in his voice as he slammed his knife into his opponent's  
side, losing his grip on the suddenly slickened hilt. The Wookiee  
grunted, dropped him... and then recovered, one huge hand closing  
in black hair and yanking savagely upward. Howling and dancing in  
the fierce grasp, Xanatos found himself at eye-level with the  
Wookiee, his own bloody desperation mirrored in the dark gaze.  
Grasping at rough fur with his feet and free hand, he braced  
himself against the huge body and forced himself to think past the  
pain.

One way or another, it ended here.

Claws bit into a pale calf and the fanged mouth opened, the breath  
fetid and scented with fresh blood. Xanatos snarled in return and  
struck, thrusting the dead handler's stunstick between his  
opponent's jaws and turning it to maximum. Blue streaks of energy  
erupted across the furred face, drawing the hair out to almost  
comical effect as the Wookiee jerked, eyes going wide in the  
moment before the strong limbs went first rigid, then flaccid,  
crumpling gracelessly to the pit floor. Electronics might not  
survive a trip through a forceshield, but they worked just *fine*  
after being dragged through an open arch with an unwary handler.  
Rolling free of his stunned adversary, Xanatos looked around  
desperately for weaponry, then scrambled back across the groaning  
Wookiee to drag the long knife out from under the ribcage with an  
effort. Blood gushed from the wound, the injury possibly already  
fatal, but Xanatos wasn't taking any chances as he straddled the  
broad chest, lifting the blade high and then slamming it through  
the breastbone to pierce the Wookiee's heart. The great furred  
body heaved once, then settled into death with a long moan of  
escaping air that was quickly drowned by the rising roar of the  
crowd.

Xanatos didn't move, didn't try to acknowledge his victory. It  
would be easy, so easy, to draw the blade from the Wookiee's  
breast and drive it through his own, so easy to deny Merlis his  
final victory. He had fought his last bout, had brought his owner  
the system crown, had murdered one of his own in the name of a man  
he hated -- he had nowhere further to go, nothing more to do, and  
yet....

The crowd fell silent and Xanatos slowly raised his head. Merlis  
stood in the archway, an expression of mingled triumph and  
possessive pride on his face as he took three slow steps forward  
into the pit. Xanatos blinked at him, his brain not quite  
processing that the other Human was actually *there* for a few  
moments... and then he was in motion, reacting without thought,  
three years of hatred exploding in a moment of raw *fury* as he  
launched himself for Merlis' throat with a scream of rage.

It was wasted effort, of course. His implant triggered a split  
second before the governor's stunstick connected and Xanatos went  
down in a twitching heap, hands clawing for purchase on the blood-  
slick plasteel. Twisting, he tried to avoid Merlis' grasp but  
thick fingers knotted in his hair, the grip agony after the  
Wookiee's attentions, and the stunstick discharged again, this  
time over his heart.

Xanatos convulsed, his limbs going slack but merciful  
unconsciousness denied as Merlis dragged him to his knees,  
displaying him to the watching crowd like some freshly shot game  
animal. Smooth steel caressed his trembling throat as the  
governor's amplified voice carried to his audience, "Behold your  
champion! Undefeated in the three years since his arrival, in two  
years as Champion of Torlanis Station, and now retiring as System  
Champion. Take a good look -- I doubt we shall ever see his like  
again...." The stunstick slid up and across a cheekbone, drawing a  
snarl and a moment of struggle from Xanatos. Merlis laughed at  
the movement, a smugly amused chuckle accompanied by a sharp tug  
that pulled his prize's head back painfully. "Look at him,  
defiant to the last. Sadly, it's time for him to learn that there  
are some fights even butchers like him can't win." An electric  
sting against his collarbone shocked the returning strength from  
Xanatos' muscles and he groaned and twitched, reflexively arching  
back against Merlis' leg. "Better." The sting again, beneath his  
chin, and the hand released its grip on his hair, tumbling him  
bonelessly down to sprawl at his owner's feet. Hissing with  
humiliated fury, Xanatos struggled to bring his limbs under  
control, to push himself up, but his first sign of progress was  
met with an expensively-booted foot planted firmly against his  
spine, forcing him back to the floor.

Anger flooded through Xanatos, searing away the outside world as  
he fought to make his body respond to his demands. He wanted to  
tear Merlis apart with his teeth, wanted the bastard *dead*, but  
pain and fatigue and the weight between his shoulder blades  
conspired to keep him grovelling on the deck. Somewhere in the  
background he could hear Merlis gloating over his victory, using  
his obvious mastery over his deadly pet as a subtle reminder of  
his control over the station. There would be bouts to decide a  
new champion, it seemed, and the remains of the old mounted for  
posterity in --

Too much. Drawing on every reserve he had left, Xanatos bucked,  
felt Merlis stagger against the unexpected movement. He tried to  
gather himself for a strike, tried to call his rebellious limbs to  
order, *tried* to dodge the kick that connected hard with his jaw  
and sent the world spinning around his ears.

The fingers were locked in his hair again, the cold metal pressed  
hard against the base of his skull. He snarled weakly, still not  
willing to surrender....

And then the energy flared and everything *stopped* --

***

When consciousness returned he was lying on smooth, soft sheets,  
the gently scented air cool against the bare skin of his back.  
Memory came a fraction ahead of movement and Xanatos took care to  
remain still, keeping his breathing slow and even as he quickly  
catalogued his condition. The remembered agonies had dulled to  
faint background aches and a slight tensing of muscles revealed  
the tight pull of healing flesh where memory placed open wounds.  
He had been taken to the medics once more, it seemed, returned to  
health so that Merlis might find the kill all the more satisfying.

Xanatos smothered his growl with an effort and cracked an eye  
fractionally open. He was in the governor's private quarters once  
more, the opulent surroundings a world away from the reeking slave  
pens... but an execution chamber, no matter how comfortable, was  
still an execution chamber. He didn't doubt that Merlis was  
somewhere in the room, watching and waiting for his pet to stir,  
but he couldn't quite tell where --

There was a touch, skin on skin, trailing down Xanatos' back from  
his nape towards his tailbone. His reflexes betrayed him as he  
jerked away from the contact, his movement brought up short by the  
unfamiliar tug of metal at neck and ankles, this game evidently  
different to the usual amusements. Choking, he twisted, snatching  
for the offending hand... and instead grasping the silver rod of  
an active stunstick. He pulled back violently, gasping for breath  
as the chain tightened around his throat and Merlis' laughter  
grated against his nerves.

"Feeling a little jumpy, are you, boy?" The older man tapped the  
now-quiescent weapon against his palm, grey eyes sweeping hungrily  
across the pale body tethered before him. "Hardly surprising. So  
many battles, so many victories. And it all ends here, with me."  
He walked slowly around the bed, his too-soft frame a sharp  
contrast to Xanatos' lean, muscular form. A hovercam followed  
him, a second floating in place on the opposite side of the wide,  
upholstered platform. "Beautiful, so beautiful. So deadly." He  
smirked. "And *so* helpless beneath my will."

Xanatos snarled, fury coiling coldly in his gut, then screamed as  
his implant sent fire racing through his nerves. Convulsing, he  
clawed desperately at the chain around his neck, trying to find  
some purchase as his own reflexive movements pulled it taut.  
Forcing himself out of the foetal ball he had tried to curl into,  
Xanatos made another blind grab for Merlis... and this time the  
stunstick slipped in to discharge against his ribs, the electric  
crackle almost drowning out his choking cries and the sound of his  
captor's sadistic amusement. "Yes, yes, scream for me, *hurt* for  
me." Chuckling, Merlis stepped back, watching Xanatos thrash  
against his bonds. "I wouldn't bother trying to take the choker  
off, boy, it's set so that it'll only open so far. And *that's*  
not far enough to get that pretty head through."

Merlis paused, gazing down at Xanatos thoughtfully, then turned to  
pour himself a glass of something blue and expensive-looking. "I  
think I'll miss you, you know," he said, almost conversationally.  
"You certainly proved to be worth the investment. But you've not  
got the edge you used to and I'd *hate* to see you wasted in the  
pit." Merlis settled at the foot of the bed, sipping at the  
viscous blue fluid, one hand reaching out to caress a pale,  
fettered ankle. "Besides," he said, quirking a smile as Xanatos  
pulled sharply away from his touch, "you're System Champion now.  
The only thing left for you to do is lose, and watching you crawl  
is *my* privilege, bought and paid for. A shame I'll only get to  
do this the once, but at least I'll be able to record it for  
posterity...."

Throwing back the last of his drink, Merlis stood and stretched  
languidly. Xanatos watched him closely, forcing himself to calm  
as the anger threatened to eat him from the inside. Gods, if he  
could just get free, if he could just get the fucking chip out of  
his skull, he would --

The implant flared again -- not the familiar blinding spike of  
agony but instead a rolling wave of pain that deadened reflexes  
and scrambled co-ordination, turning his body into that of a  
drunk. Snarling, Xanatos grabbed for his head -- noting  
distractedly that his long hair had been cleaned and combed -- as  
if he could somehow squeeze the hurt out. The rage was all he had  
left, fury and pride and the need to *live*, and so long as he had  
those, Merlis hadn't won. His body might be a plaything, but his  
mind was his own, would *always* be his own, and he'd *never*  
surrender that fierce core of *self* to the bastard, no more than  
he had surrendered it to the indoctrinations of the Jedi. Fuck,  
if he could only touch the Force again, he'd show Merlis what it  
*was* to be helpless!

"Still fighting? Good." The stunstick brushed against a bony hip  
and Xanatos jumped, his body twitching away from the touch as his  
hands instinctively reached down to the burn. Merlis laughed and  
backhanded him hard across the face, drawing blood from nose and  
lip. "There now," he purred, driving a fist into the scarred  
belly and making Xanatos jerk and strain against the silver  
choker. "See where fighting gets you?" Another blow to the head,  
an embossed ring opening the skin over an angular cheekbone.  
"You're mine, boy. All mine."

Xanatos showed teeth and spat in Merlis' face, earning a stab of  
the stunstick to the genitals for his troubles. "Looks like you  
still need to know your place, though." Hands grabbed for him,  
one pinning his wrists roughly against the silken covers, the  
other roaming across his spasming body as he fought for air,  
fought for freedom. "Look at you, Jedi whore. You know when  
you're beaten, don't you? You know who your master is. You  
*want* this, don't you?" Merlis' voice was thickening with  
excitement and arousal, and Xanatos could feel his owner's  
erection swelling wetly against his gut as the man straddled him.  
Fingers caught his jaw, avoiding his frantic attempts to bite, and  
forced his head back, exposing his chain-marked throat. "Oh yes,"  
Merlis panted, clearly lost in his own fantasy-made-flesh,  
"thought you'd never get beaten, didn't you, thought nobody could  
best you...." The hand moved, catching him hard beneath the chin,  
closing off his airway and making him dance and writhe against the  
weight that pressed him to the covers. "Killer like you can't  
live with the shame of it, eh? Well, I guess I might just show  
mercy and finish you once I've taught you to show me some respect.  
On your belly, boy!"

Releasing his grip on throat and wrists, Merlis pushed his weight  
up off the lean thighs, grabbing for a pale shoulder and rolling  
his choking prize over to lie face down on the sheets. Xanatos  
fought, squirming and bucking as best he could, until smooth metal  
parted the dark curtain of his hair and an electrical kiss to the  
back of the neck reduced him to quivering stillness. Merlis  
grunted approval and moved to adjust the ankle restraints, parting  
the fetters and clipping each to a separate chain, allowing the  
long legs to open for ease of access.

This part, at least, was familiar. But familiarity didn't make it  
any easier.

Xanatos snarled and snapped and tried to roll again as Merlis  
reached for his neck. Another blow slammed against his face and  
he blinked blood from his eyes, felt it trickling from his lips as  
he released his bitten tongue. Couldn't stop fighting, *wouldn't*  
stop fighting, not while there was still breath left in him. The  
choker chain went slack for a moment as Merlis released the  
tethered end and Xanatos thrashed, trying to make the most of the  
brief freedom. For a moment, his captor drew back... and then  
there was a hand hard against his spine, cold steel painfully  
forcing its way into his body, and Xanatos *screamed* as the jolt  
burned through him, triggering his implant and sending the world  
into momentary blackness....

When his vision cleared, Xanatos' body was moving in familiar,  
brutal rhythm, the stunstick replaced by heated flesh. The  
physical agony was matched by the painful knot of fury and  
frustration building in his soul as Merlis took his pleasure,  
bruising and tearing and crushing and sweating and moaning and --

*Choking*.

The chain around Xanatos' throat suddenly pulled *taut*, biting  
savagely into the pale flesh as he was pulled back and up, his  
spine arching against the strain. "That's it, Jedi whore," Merlis  
snarled in his ear, "fight it, fight *me*." The links shifted as  
the ends were wound further around the older man's fists,  
tightening with each fierce thrust, and Xanatos clawed at the  
choker in desperation as it cut off his breath. "Oh yes, that's  
it, that's it, stupid little Jedi fuck, not quite so invincible  
now, are you...."

Pain and rage and need and *hate* boiled up from deep within,  
nothing held back now that there was nothing left to lose.  
Darkness danced at the edge of vision, and he couldn't breathe,  
couldn't think, couldn't reach beyond the pounding rush of blood  
and the litany of insult and the pressure, *oh gods*, the pressure  
in his skull that felt as though it were going to crack the bone  
and --

And then he felt it. Just a spark, like the tiniest of lights in  
a vast blackness, barely there and yet, if he *concentrated*....

A moment of numbness, within and without, a detached sense of  
movement, of thick-fingered hands cradling his skull, his chin.  
Xanatos ignored the physical world, forcing everything of himself,  
all his rage and all his need, into that small chink, seeking the  
touch of something he had almost forgotten, finding the breach and  
coaxing, teasing, *wrenching* --

Merlis shrieked as he was slammed across the room, torn from his  
victim's body by invisible hands. Xanatos himself gasped and  
shuddered as his implant disintegrated, burned away by the wave of  
Force that crashed through him, surging and swelling and  
*perfect*. Merlis' efforts had somehow damaged the chip, it  
seemed, and it had only taken the faintest touch of Force to sear  
it away completely, feeding and flowing and flooding through  
senses so long denied this birthright. It felt good, *so* good,  
so right and how had he lived for so long without *this*? Power  
danced through him, feeding and reflecting his need and his rage  
as he turned to look at the man now trying to scramble for the  
alert switch, flattening him to the deep blue of the carpet with a  
thought. The fetters fell away and Xanatos pulled the chain from  
his throat, feeling the flesh already healing as he stalked across  
the chamber to crouch by the older man's head, his smile sadistic  
as he leaned in to whisper roughly in Merlis' ear.

"*Guess what just stopped working....*"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Merlis jerked back, grey eyes wide and terrified. All arrogance  
was gone now, shrivelled and shed and leaving only fear roiling in  
its place. "P-please, don't hurt me!" he stammered. "You can  
have anything you w-w-want, I s-s-swear, just d-don't touch me!"

Xanatos' eyes narrowed as his grin turned feral, basking in the  
panicked dread that Merlis projected from every pore. The Force  
pulsed through him, its power intoxicating by its mere presence,  
giving his long-held dreams of vengeance form and substance, and  
oh, how he *needed* this. There mere sight of his hated owner  
grovelling and begging before him sent a thrill through his soul,  
but he needed blood for what had been done to him, craved it,  
thirsted for it. Three years of helplessness and now everything  
he had desired for so long was laid out before him....

The pleas continued. Xanatos ignored them, soaking in the wild  
emotions that gave them meaning. The one thing he wanted was the  
one thing that Merlis desperately didn't want him to take.

Too bad.

"Oh, please, gods, I swear, just *don't touch me*!"

Xanatos cocked his head to the side, the first real movement he  
had made since he had come to rest beside his former master. His  
smile didn't dim as Merlis tried to back away further, coming up  
against a leather-clad couch and whimpering as his escape was cut  
off. "I'll do anything you want, just please, gods, don't --"

A single fluid movement and long, scarred fingers pressed against  
the too-slack muscle of the governor's chest, curling just enough  
to let the older man feel the bite of nails over his heart.  
Merlis *screamed*, the sound almost feminine in pitch, and the  
brittle Force-flash of terror was accompanied by the acrid stench  
of urine as the man's bladder voided. Xanatos watched the stain  
spread, deepening the blue of the carpet as it blossomed beneath  
the governor's trembling body, and allowed himself a scratchy  
laugh. Apparently Merlis didn't like getting a taste of his own  
medicine. What a shame. And the fun hadn't even *started*  
yet....

Snatching a handful of short, greying hair, Xanatos stood and  
dragged the screaming, pleading governor back towards the bed.  
The man was shrieking, crystalline waves of fear and terror  
rolling off him and feeding into Xanatos' hunger for revenge,  
giving him what he had desired for so long. Throwing Merlis  
roughly onto the bloodstained covers, he called the stunstick to  
his hand, examining the weapon for a moment before slamming it  
against the older man's stomach. Merlis shrieked and curled in on  
himself, saliva frothing on his lips as the electrical charge tore  
at his nervous system and left him limp and twitching in its wake.

"Not so funny *now*, is it?" Xanatos grated, his voice rough and  
unfamiliar to his own ears, the words slurred from lack of  
practice. Snatching for the jerking legs, he closed the fetters  
tight around the ankles, feeling a cruel thrill as the metal bit  
into the thick flesh and crimson stained the steel. Bending his  
head, Xanatos lapped delicately at a slickened restraint,  
savouring the iron-on-iron taste for a moment before moving to  
bind Merlis' wrists with strips torn from the covers, tying him  
firmly to the arching rockwood supports. Shortening the fetter  
chains with a flicker of Force, Xanatos stepped back to admire his  
handiwork and felt his smile spread wider at the sight of his  
owner spread-eagled and helpless before him.

Torlanis' governor could struggle but he would not escape his  
deathbed's embrace.

"No...." The stunstick's effects were beginning to wear off,  
returning Merlis' control of his body and voice. "*No*, you h-  
have to l-let me go. I can offer you anything you want,  
anything...." He trailed off as he registered the predatory gleam  
in Xanatos' eyes, the expression all too familiar after three  
years of bloody victories and eviscerated opponents. "You  
can't...."

"I can," Xanatos whispered, springing lightly onto the covers and  
rasping a chuckle as Merlis' cautious testing of his bonds  
suddenly gave way to frantic thrashing. "'Feeling a little jumpy,  
are you, boy?'"

If Merlis realised that his captor was throwing his own words back  
at him, he gave no sign, too lost in his terror to hear anything  
but his own desperate begging. Xanatos frowned at the noise,  
frustrated that Merlis' captivity was not as mute as his own, and  
momentarily considered tearing out the man's tongue... but blood  
loss would be too swift a death, too merciful after all that had  
been done to him. Instead he tore fresh strips from the now-  
tattered covers and grabbed for Merlis' head, stifling the man's  
screams as he stuffed a handful of material between his jaws, then  
used a second piece to gag him tightly, holding the first in  
place. Choked animal sounds replaced the pleas as Merlis' throat  
worked against the obstruction, his grey eyes widening as he  
realised that he had lost the ability to even request mercy.

Xanatos watched his owner's face, relishing the subtle shades of  
terror and fear that chased across the broad features and echoed  
into the Force. Strange how Merlis didn't appear to appreciate  
the finer details of the life he had no qualms about inflicting on  
others. Calling the stunstick to him from where it had dropped by  
the side of the bed, he spent a few moments examining its  
settings... then stabbed it hard into Merlis' exposed crotch,  
watching with amusement as the man danced and writhed on the  
sheets. He spent several minutes playing with the stunstick that  
way, keeping Merlis guessing as to where the pain would start  
next, adjusting the intensity randomly until he grew bored and  
discarded the weapon with a negligent flick of the wrist. There  
were more interesting games yet to play if he could just find the  
right tools....

Wandering around the room, Xanatos took his time examining the  
casual luxury of Merlis' life, the meaningless ornaments and  
expensive alcohols, the elegant finery of the dÈcor. Richly-  
coloured swathes of material softened the stark lines of the  
apartment's interior and muffled the sounds of Xanatos' passage as  
he lifted a carving here, a decanter there. A curiously etched  
tribal club seemed to hold some promise, but he threw it aside as  
his eye fell on an ornate knife, the artistically swept curves of  
its many-edged blade wickedly sharp beneath the elaborate thumb  
sheath and etched stone handle. Snatching it from its display  
case, Xanatos examined it minutely, admiring the workmanship. A  
weapon such as this was never intended for use, only for view and  
the boast of ownership, yet the balance was perfect and the edges  
honed to razor-sharpness.

It seemed almost criminal to leave so fine a blade unblooded when  
there was a sacrifice already laid out and awaiting its touch.

Turning on his heel on the soft blue pile of the carpeted floor,  
Xanatos stalked purposefully back across the room, aware of the  
frantic grey gaze that followed his every move. He smiled  
hungrily and examined the blade once more for Merlis' benefit,  
feeling a sense of deep satisfaction in the way the light caught  
and reflected from the smooth metal. The shards of a shattered  
decanter would sate his thirst for blood, but the knife allowed  
for a more *precise* form of vengeance, one that would ensure that  
Merlis fully understood what was being done to him. Jumping up  
onto the covers, he stood over his whimpering victim for a few  
moments before dropping down to straddle the padded flesh of the  
trembling stomach, letting the man's fear wash through his senses.  
"No escape," he murmured softly, almost to himself, testing the  
shape of the words. "No escape."

Merlis' eyes widened and he twisted helplessly in his bonds, small  
strangled sounds escaping past the gag. Xanatos rode the  
movements... then reversed the knife and struck, two lightning-  
swift blows with the hilt that snapped both collarbones and drew a  
choked scream, more of terror than of pain, from his captive.  
Spurred on by the sound, he flipped the blade again and seized one  
over-extended arm, slicing neatly through the muscles where chest  
met shoulder. Blood welled as the knife slid through the skin,  
then coursed freely as it bit deeper, deeper... yet not so deep  
that it touched the great vessels that led to the heart. There  
would be time for such things later, perhaps, but for now Xanatos  
wanted this to *last*.

The muffled cries of pain were a constant accompaniment as Xanatos  
disabled the other arm in the same fashion as the first, then  
turned to nick the blade through the tendons at the back of  
Merlis' knees. Crippled and bleeding, his limbs all-but dead to  
his limited control, the man's pleading gaze flicked from his  
captor's face to a point just beyond his shoulder. Frowning,  
Xanatos glanced back and saw one of the hovercams as it whispered  
past, recording this moment for posterity, and for a moment he  
wondered if it had a live feed to any potential rescuers... but  
no, if there were anyone watching they would have sent aid by now,  
and Merlis' vengeful champion would be just so much blaster-ruined  
meat. There were no spectators for this show, not yet, no  
witnesses until the hovercam's memory was coaxed into surrendering  
its bloody secrets. Given the local taste in entertainment, it  
would no doubt prove popular viewing.

Dismissing the electronic voyeurs from his thoughts, Xanatos  
turned back to his prey. Ignoring the stuttering grunts issuing  
from behind the gag, he reached out with the Force, carefully  
seeking mental pathways so long neglected in his captivity. Gross  
manifestation of telekinesis was a simple thing, but more subtle  
use was a skill not easily mastered and his touch was rusty,  
uncertain, frustrating him with his lack of finesse as he focused  
on one trembling arm and *concentrated*....

The gargling screams increased in volume as flesh mottled and  
tore, crushed by an invisible grip, until finally Merlis' humerus  
fragmented with a series of ugly wet snaps and Xanatos released  
his hold on the Force with a sense of satisfaction. A moment  
later he focused again... and this time radius and ulna broke more  
quickly, if no more cleanly. A smile spread itself slowly across  
his face as he moved up the arm and into the hand, feeling his way  
with ever-greater confidence as he shattered each bone in turn,  
refining his touch as the old habits of control returned to him.  
The second arm was quicker, the skeleton giving way in a series of  
rapid-fire cracks that sent pulses of pain rippling through the  
Force. Xanatos drank them in, exulting in the emotional shards  
and letting them shear away the humiliations that Merlis had  
forced on him. It was good, so *good*... but it wasn't enough.  
He didn't think that it would ever be enough.

Merlis' skin was cool and clammy, his broad nostrils flaring with  
each shallow, frantic breath as he sobbed helplessly against the  
gag. Pulling himself back from the Force with an effort, Xanatos  
took a moment to admire the loosely useless, too-flaccid state of  
his captive's purpling arms, then centred his thoughts once more  
and smashed both kneecaps and each manicured toe before tiring of  
the game and seeking a new amusement before shock took too great a  
toll on Merlis' ability to feel pain. The knife was still in  
Xanatos' hand, barely blooded from its brief use, and he wiped it  
quickly across the covers, once, twice, removing the gore and  
leaving it gleaming and ready for use. Leaning forward, he  
pressed the flat of the blade against Merlis' throat, chuckling  
raspily as the grey eyes squeezed shut in anticipation of the  
lethal cut that never came. Lifting the knife again, Xanatos made  
two quick shallow incisions in the soft flesh over the slack  
pectoral muscles, watching as the blood pooled in the wounds  
before overflowing to leave wet crimson trails across the damp  
skin.

Humming softly to himself, Xanatos stroked the tips of his fingers  
through the bloody tracks and examined the bright fluid against  
the paleness of his skin for a few moments before cleaning it  
carefully away with quick sweeps of his tongue. Turning his  
attention back to Merlis, he began carving fresh lines into the  
trembling chest, working his way towards the stomach in sweeping,  
slicing patterns of red, the cuts growing ever deeper as he moved  
down the man's body. Finally reaching the shallow indentation of  
Merlis' navel, Xanatos looked up and locked his gaze with his  
former owner's as he slid the blade *into* the bloodied abdomen  
until the sharp hook of one of the secondary edges slipped beneath  
the skin, then slowly began to force it up towards the ribcage,  
opening the gut with relentless pressure. Slickened skin gave way  
to the yellow gleam of fat and the blood-dark cavity beneath as he  
held the wound open with the Force. Crimson-tinged forms within  
quivered in time with Merlis' muffled screams and the frantic  
pounding of his pulse, but Xanatos stopped his incision short of  
the diaphragm, leaving the heart and lungs to their own desperate  
devices. His time was growing short as shock and blood loss began  
to take hold of Merlis' broken body -- he would need to be swift  
and selective with his pleasures if he wanted his captive to be  
fully aware of them.

Casting the knife aside, Xanatos slid slender, scarred fingers  
into the wound. Slick, living flesh encased him as he probed,  
pulsing against his skin as he delved amongst the organs, divining  
the function of each through the Force as it trembled at his  
touch. Never looking away from Merlis' face, he pushed through  
the membranes that held flesh in place, Force and fingernails  
rending the thin barriers and sending fresh splashes of liquid  
heat to coat knuckles and palm and wrist. The Human body was a  
complex thing, evolved over billions of years, and it could take a  
remarkable amount of damage before it finally acknowledged defeat  
\-- a fact that Xanatos knew and appreciated far better than most.  
Merlis' body was far past that point of surrender but had yet to  
truly accept that the fight was lost.

Unlike the mind behind the terrified grey eyes. Smiling cruelly,  
Xanatos wrapped his fingers around something slick and soft,  
wrenching it free with a savage twist and a surge of Force.  
Glancing down as he withdrew his prize, he licked his lips and  
roughly whispered, "Know this? Pancreas." Laying the bloody  
organ on Merlis' lacerated chest, he slid his hand back into the  
wound, fishing for a kidney...

...and stopped as the Force flickered and Merlis' eyes lost their  
focus for a moment before suddenly snapping back to fix on him  
once more. The end was close, and if Xanatos desired more  
vengeance than this painful fade, it was time to act. So many  
fondly held dreams of retribution, so many scenarios toyed with  
over the painful years of captivity -- and now the time had come  
to choose and to turn fantasy into something solid, something  
real.

Something fatal.

Plunging both hands into Merlis' open belly, Xanatos seized a  
quivering length of intestine, tearing away the tissues that held  
the glistening mass together until pulsing, ragged-fringed gut  
filled his arms. Moving quickly, he looped it around Merlis'  
thick neck and pulled it *tight*, reinforcing the fragile,  
slippery flesh with the Force and glorying in the agonised panic  
in the older man's eyes, in the desperate animal sounds that  
escaped the gag in the moments before the airway was closed by  
Merlis' own slick, straining innards. Leaning in, he caught the  
frantic grey gaze and rasped, as slowly and clearly as he could,  
"*Xanatos*. My *name* is Xanatos."

The mere act of speaking that one word, of hearing it in his own  
voice, in *any* voice, sent a thrill through Xanatos' soul and he  
tightened his grip on his fleshy garrotte. The ruined body bucked  
and twisted for a few moments... and then Merlis' eyes rolled back  
in his head and the jagged, agonised terror that had filled the  
Force faded to a background hiss. Xanatos didn't release the  
pressure, didn't stop pulling the bloody gut tighter, until Merlis  
gave a final shudder and something *flared* in the Force --

And gave way to a silence within and without.

Slowly, Xanatos forced himself to relax, to let go of the crimson  
pulp of disintegrating gut, the flesh unable to hold together as  
the supporting energies faded with Xanatos' rage. Taking a deep  
breath, he pushed himself away from the ravaged corpse, light-  
headed with the sudden reality of freedom and vengeance.  
Physically, Xanatos had been free in the moment the chip had  
malfunctioned, but so much of his anger and frustration had been  
focused on Merlis that only the man's death could truly give him  
the release he needed. And now that the final fight had been won,  
the final kill made... he felt strangely lost.

Stumbling away from the bed, Xanatos found his legs curiously  
unwilling to support him. Sinking to the carpeted floor, he took  
a few moments to simply breathe and clear his head. Strange --  
after those first few months, his dreams of vengeance had never  
gone beyond this point, had never envisioned anything beyond  
Merlis' death. Nothing had really existed beyond that point and  
to suddenly find himself in uncharted territory, his fury fled,  
was almost unnerving. A part of him wanted to simply cry with  
relief, but it was impossible to forget that this moment of peace  
was a temporary thing, that there were others who would eventually  
investigate Merlis' silence with weaponry far more deadly than a  
stunstick.

And he hadn't survived for as long as he had to be slaughtered by  
some underling.

Pushing himself up with sudden resolve, Xanatos began to examine  
his surroundings, seeking some means of escape as he forced his  
mind to think like the padawan he had once been. A space station  
was not the easiest of places to slip away from and the docks  
would no doubt be heavily guarded, doubly so after Merlis' body  
was found. The maintenance shafts might offer a means of egress  
from the cabin but, given the nature of Torlanis' business, they  
would be built for droids and likely slip in and out of vacuum as  
a way to contain vermin and escaped slaves. Given Merlis' rank  
and wealth, there might be an escape pod associated with his  
apartments, but pods were designed to be tracked and incapable of  
hyperspace jumps.

Xanatos snarled. There had to be *some* way out of this opulent  
prison. A door slid aside to reveal a storage chamber of  
clothing, another opened onto a 'fresher chamber. A third gave  
way to a well-equipped office whose wood and stone panelled walls  
were lined with images of the pit, of fights in progress and of  
champions past. Several of the holos were of Xanatos himself,  
bloodstained and victorious, probably not so different to how he  
looked now. It took him a moment to recognise himself -- the last  
time he had seen so much as a mirror, he had worn a padawan's cut,  
not a blood-matted mane. Raising a hand to touch his now-long  
hair, Xanatos turned... and froze.

Hanging behind the central desk was a slender boxed frame  
containing three neatly braided lengths. The longest, neatly  
pinned in the case's centre, was a too-familiar sable, and Xanatos  
unconsciously moved his hand to the place behind his right ear  
where it had once hung. He should have known that Merlis had kept  
it, that the man would have seen it as a trophy as well as an  
inconvenient liability in the pit. The other braids were  
unfamiliar, one a pale green, still twisted with the hair's  
natural curl, the other a bright golden blonde, their colours a  
final reminder of young Jedi no doubt long dead. Xanatos had not  
been the first padawan in the governor's stable, it seemed,  
although he did at least have the satisfaction of knowing that he  
was the last.

Forcing himself to look away from the braided scraps of wasted  
lives, Xanatos took a step back from the desk... and paused as his  
senses whispered of something more to the room, of hidden riches.  
Letting the Force guide him, he laid a bloody hand against one  
polished panel, its glossy surface gleaming with the mottled  
colours of serpentine, and felt for the catches that might grant  
him entry. There was undoubtedly some electronic key to this, but  
he had no time to seek it and less inclination. All he needed to  
know was what --

There was a soft sigh of compressed air and the panel swung  
inwards to reveal a short corridor. Xanatos froze, ready to react  
if his actions had triggered some hidden security system, but when  
he sensed no additional danger he cautiously moved forward, eyes  
flicking over the notices and images that dotted the walls, and  
felt a fresh surge of triumph as he realised what lay at the end  
of the passage. Grinning fiercely, he made a swift note of the  
security panels and stepped back out into the office. He would  
need to move quickly, of that there was no doubt, but at least he  
now had a glimmer of hope.

He should have known that Merlis would provide himself with a back  
door.

Returning to the bed, Xanatos took a moment to study his handiwork  
before retrieving the knife he had thrown aside earlier. The  
ornately curved blade was caked with blood, the dark surface  
cracking as it dried to reveal the gleaming metal beneath.  
Xanatos took a moment to admire the effect, then decided that  
Merlis deserved one final indignity for all that he had inflicted  
on his unfortunate property over the years. Quickly using the  
blade to prise an eyeball free of its socket, Xanatos laid it  
aside before cutting away the cloth gag and pulling the  
bloodstained wad of material from between the corpse's jaws.  
Throwing it aside, he moved down the body to the cold, flaccid  
genitals, not pausing as he seized cock and balls and pulled them  
up and away from the pelvis, cutting through the root with a  
sawing motion and regretting that he had not had the time to  
inflict this on Merlis while the man was still in a condition to  
appreciate it. Sluggish, half-congealed blood dripped from the  
wound and coated Merlis' chin as Xanatos stuffed the severed flesh  
into the open mouth, then stood over the corpse a moment to gaze  
down at his vengeance. It was ugly and it was brutal, but it was  
no more than Merlis deserved.

And it was over.

(continued in part 5/5)

\--   
Smitty

(continued from part 4/5)

Abandoning the corpse to the voyeuristic attentions of the hovercams,  
Xanatos sprang towards the fresher chamber. His intention was to clean  
the knife, but the unexpected sight of a water shower -- a decadent  
luxury aboard a station -- distracted him and the temptation proved too  
much. The sensation of heated water coursing over him, washing the  
blood and gore and remembered touch from his skin, was something akin to  
rebirth and it was an almost physical wrench to switch the 'fresher to  
sonics and let it strip the moisture from his skin and hair. Relishing  
the sense of being truly *clean* for the first time in years, Xanatos  
snatched up the knife, turning towards the door --

And freezing as he caught sight of himself in the mirrored surface of  
the opposite wall. It had been a dark, glossy stone before, he was  
certain, but whatever holographic trickery was involved was of no  
concern as Xanatos took a cautious step towards his reflection. So very  
pale, so much paler than he could remember, and there were too many  
scars patterning the pallid skin, each line a white-on-white reminder of  
ownership. His black hair, hanging silkily almost to his waist and  
providing dark splashes at armpit and groin, was a stark contrast to his  
ghostly complexion, and Xanatos suddenly found himself craving the feel  
of sunlight, of wind, of rain. The sensory memories were beginning to  
surface -- all he needed to do now was live long enough to indulge them.

Raiding Merlis' wardrobe, Xanatos selected a grey jumpsuit that he  
belted tightly around the waist to compensate for his slender build, a  
dark, heavy jacket, and light shoes that almost fit. It felt strange,  
and not a little confining, to wear clothing again after so long, but  
Xanatos refused to let himself dwell on it, instead snatching up a  
carisak and stuffing the jacket and the blade within. Moving around the  
apartment, he took anything that looked portable and valuable, wiping  
off the stunstick and taking that as an afterthought. Some further  
investigation of the office and a careful application of Force revealed  
a safebox containing two swiftly stashed blasters and a pile of loose  
credit transfer chips that Xanatos grudgingly rejected as being too easy  
to trace.

Of his lightsabre there was no sign, Merlis having apparently failed to  
secure that trophy, but Xanatos found it hard to mourn the lost weapon.  
It had been so very long since he had last thought of himself as Jedi  
and, even with the Force restored to him, he knew that he could no  
longer stomach their philosophy. The galaxy could not be held at bay  
with serenity and meditation -- life was raw and bloody and savage and  
demanded to be met head-on if it was to be survived. Dumping his bag at  
the entrance to the hidden passage, Xanatos made one last foray to the  
bed, barely sparing Merlis' ruined body a glance as he snatched up the  
bloodied eye he had extracted earlier, running his tongue across the  
cold, stained surface as he returned to his stolen belongings, cleaning  
away the crimson and lending it a faint sheen of life. The retinal  
scanner accepted the dead imprint without a murmur and the final door  
slid aside to reveal the private docking chamber beyond.

The ship was small, a *Hawkbat*-class runabout in station colours. It  
was little more than a rich man's toy, unarmed and seating two at most,  
but it was there and it was flight-ready and it was capable of  
hyperspace jumps, albeit of limited range. Xanatos trailed his fingers  
across one glossy engine fairing, then cautiously probed at the ramp  
controls with the Force. The palm lock would be programmed for Merlis'  
touch, and he doubted the splintered and purpled remains of the former  
station governor's hands would be considered acceptable by the  
recognition grid. In the stark white lights of the dock, Xanatos felt  
uncomfortably exposed, and he tucked one of the blasters into his belt,  
trying to push down the faint, nagging sense of danger that pulsed in  
the Force. They'd find the body soon, they had to -- someone would be  
sure to check on Merlis, find out why he hadn't requested a removal team  
even after using the 'fresher. The hovercams were still in there and if  
anyone checked their feed for even an instant.... Biting his lip, he  
concentrated, seeking the catches that would open the ship and secure  
his escape. So close, so close....

A soft click told of success, and a tall panel in the ship's side  
depressed and then slid smoothly down to grant access to its passenger.  
Xanatos threw his bag aboard and darted into the cockpit, scarred  
fingers flying over the controls as he dredged up his memories of flight  
training, relieved at the speed with which the engines purred to  
exquisitely-maintained life. Running swiftly through the pre-flight  
essentials, killing security protocols as found them, he unlocked the  
docking clamps and moved back to secure the ramp --

And snarled in sudden fury as sirens screamed to life and the bright  
white light turned blood red, flashing menacingly overhead. It looked  
as though his luck had finally run out... but he was damned if he was  
going to fall at this last hurdle.

He wouldn't give Merlis' minions the pleasure of the kill.

Leaning out onto the ramp, Xanatos' first three shots disabled the  
security droids that sprang to sudden life from an unnoticed corner; the  
fourth slamming into the chest of the Gotal guard who suddenly appeared  
in the corridor. The fifth exploded against the control panel next to  
the entryway, snapping both the security door and an anti-decompression  
bulwark into place and cutting off the sudden, angry sounds of pursuit.  
Praying that the ramp would seal fast enough, Xanatos bolted back to the  
cockpit, throwing himself into the pilot's seat and seizing the control  
stick with one hand as the other danced across the engine controls. His  
pulse was racing, the Force singing with threat and tension, and he  
hadn't felt so *alive* in years. Thought and action merged as he lifted  
the ship and slammed the thrusters to maximum, trusting his reflexes as  
the small vessel narrowly avoided the closing security barriers and shot  
out into vacuum, turning tightly to avoid collision with one of  
Torlanis' great factory arms. The station's defence grid came to sudden  
life as word of his escape reached the control centres, but the Force  
whispered its warnings and Xanatos evaded the bright flashes of  
firepower with ease, taking a brief look at the expanse of his long-time  
prison as he brought up the navcomp and quickly examined his options.  
He'd only get one jump out of the ship, and there were only a bare dozen  
worlds within range, but it was enough. He had no idea where he was  
going or what he would do once he got there, but for now the mere  
thought of being *elsewhere* was *enough*....

Turning the ship's nose towards the depths of space, Xanatos closed his  
eyes, picked a world with a quick, random stab of a finger, and made the  
jump.

END

 


End file.
